Chapter 10
TEN
It was mid-afternoon before Ally heard Patti and Greg returning, talking avidly and loudly.
Ally, with her ear pressed hard against the kitchen door, could only hear some of what they were saying.
‘How come that detective knew about our log cabin business? That’s what I want to know,’ Greg was saying.
‘Well, I expect your dear wife must have told him,’ Patti snapped. ‘Who else would know? Did you tell her, our hostess, about the problems we were having with the business?’
‘I might have done,’ Greg admitted. ‘After all, I’m proud of our little business and what it’s achieved.’
‘Pity then you’ve got such a big mouth!’ Patti retorted as they made their way upstairs. ‘That cop seems to know an awful lot about us.’
‘Well, don’t start having a go at me!’ Greg yelled, slamming shut his bedroom door. Then Patti slammed her bedroom door, and Ally could only feel for the two girls and their aunt, who’d closed the sitting-room door to shield them from the conversation.
Shortly afterwards, Ross arrived with a box of vegetables.
‘There’s enough here for a few days,’ he informed Ally.
‘I got this from poor old Jim Murray who hasn’t got two pennies to rub together, but he does have an old collie who needed medication, so he’s paid me in kind.
’ He laid down the box and gave Ally a hug.
‘But, Ross, this was for you!’
‘No, it’s for us. I eat more meals here than I do at home, and these are beautiful home-grown vegetables that can keep us going all week. Tell you what, I’ll do a veggie curry this evening – how about that?’
‘That would be wonderful,’ Ally agreed.
‘How was your day?’ Ross asked as he unloaded the box and decided which vegetables he was going to use.
Ally told him. ‘Magda popped in with the twins, but the real news is that Amir has questioned all the Armstrong adults separately down at the police station.’
‘Oh, has he?’ said Ross. ‘Incidentally, remember what Morag was saying this morning about Micky? Well, a few people today have mentioned he was drunk as a skunk in the Craigmonie Bar last night, telling anyone who’d listen what a crack shot he was, how he and his brother were cheated out of their prizes, how his daughter was a better dancer than the Armstrong girls and should have won.
He added that he’d had enough of the Canadian bastard! ’
‘Presumably everyone knows what he’s like though?’ Ally said.
‘They do, but poor Ivan had had enough and had to call the police because Micky was becoming drunk and disorderly. There was a group of the press in the bar last night, I believe, so they’ve been having a field day. He’s going to get himself into serious trouble one of these days.’
‘You don’t really think he could have had anything to do with it, do you?’ Ally asked.
‘Frankly, I think he’s all mouth,’ Ross said, ‘but who knows? Anyway, I must get started on this curry. Have we any rice?’
Ross stayed overnight and then had to spend the next day at his own place.
There was maintenance to attend to, and he needed to show his face occasionally to his self-catering guests just to ensure that all was well and that they had no complaints.
But first he was in charge of cooking the sausages, a self-appointed job which he’d taken over since the Armstrongs had arrived.
He took great pride in getting them beautifully golden on all sides, and Ally, in charge of everything else, wasn’t about to argue.
There was a definite frosty tension between the three adults in the dining room. Fortunately, the girls didn’t seem to be aware of it, or, if they were, chose to ignore it. They ate hearty breakfasts while gazing into their phones between each forkful.
As Ally re-entered the kitchen, Morag had just arrived, was tying her pinny on as usual and then burst into noisy tears.
‘Morag, whatever is the matter?’ Ally asked, exchanging glances with Ross, who merely shrugged as he turned each sausage over carefully.
Morag rubbed her eyes. ‘They’ve arrested our Micky – that’s what’s the matter!’
‘Oh no!’ Ally exclaimed, giving Morag a hug.
‘Oh yes, they bloody well have!’ shouted Morag, tearing off a piece of kitchen roll and blowing her nose.
‘Why?’ Ross asked.
‘Just cos he was in the Craigmonie the other night and said that he’d had enough of the Armstrong bastard! Just cos he’d had a few too many! Your bloody Amir is getting desperate if you ask me!’ She spat the words out as she tied her pinny round her waist.
‘He is not my Amir,’ Ally protested, ‘and he must have had a reason.’
‘We’d all had enough of the Armstrong bastard, but that didn’t mean we was linin’ up to kill him, did it?’ Morag demanded loudly. ‘And I’ll tell you somethin’ else – if it was our Micky firin’ that gun, he’d have done a proper job and not shot the bloody caber!’
Ally drew in her breath. ‘Morag, please keep your voice down. You may not have liked him, but his grieving family are all in the dining room.’
‘They won’t keep him in for long,’ Ross assured her, ‘once they realise they’ve got the wrong man. Where is he now?’
‘They burst into his house yesterday evening and took him to Fort William,’ Morag said.
‘And wee Katy’s been cryin’ all night for her daddy!
And so has Nell, Micky’s poor wife. Cryin’ all night!
’ Morag blew her nose lustily on another piece of kitchen roll.
‘It was them reporters, that’s who it was.
They was listenin’ in a corner of the bar, and they was puttin’ two and two together, and makin’ God only knows what! ’
‘They can only keep him for twenty-four hours or so,’ Ross said consolingly, ‘and without some sort of definite proof, they’ll have to let him go. And I’m sure they have nothing else other than a few drunken words, Morag.’
‘Aye, well, do they know about this next door?’ Morag sniffed as she pointed towards the dining room.
‘I shouldn’t think so, if Micky was only arrested last night,’ Ally said.
Morag braced herself. ‘I’m goin’ to go right in there and tell that family a thing or two! Because it wasn’t our Micky that did it!’
‘No, no!’ Ally, alarmed, grasped Morag by the arm. ‘You can’t do that! They don’t seem to know yet about the arrest, and since Micky’s liable to be released soon, there’s no reason for them to know at all – or for anyone to know for that matter!’
This seemed to pacify Morag for a moment.
‘Let’s get you a cup of tea before you start on the rooms. The Armstrongs will be in the dining room for a while yet, and they usually go into the sitting room afterwards anyway.’ Ally was trying to dispel visions of Morag reading out the riot act to her guests.
Morag didn’t need a great deal of persuasion and flopped onto a chair while Ally was plating up the full breakfasts, assisted by Ross depositing his perfectly cooked sausages onto each plate.
This scene of domesticity did appear to calm Morag down, and finally, duster in hand, she made her way upstairs to do the bedrooms.
Later, when both Ross and Morag – still muttering to herself – had gone home, Ally walked down to the shop. On the way, she decided to see what she could find out at the temporary police station, but the constable at the door was the height of discretion.
‘No, Detective Inspector Kandahar is not here today,’ he said firmly.
‘Any idea when he might be back?’ Ally asked hopefully.
‘I’m afraid not. He’s questioning a suspect.’
‘What, here in Locharran?’ Ally asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t.
‘No, madam, in Fort William.’ He pursed his lips and Ally knew that she’d get no more out of him, so she walked on to the shop.
As might be expected, there was a cluster of women around the counter, all talking at the same time. Queenie motioned them to be silent when she saw Ally approach.
‘Ah!’ she exclaimed. ‘Here comes Mrs McAlly!’
‘Her name’s McKinley!’ said Mrs Jamieson, the earl’s cook, who was one of the crowd.
‘I’m Ally McKinley, but Queenie got a little confused when I suggested she use my Christian name,’ Ally said by way of explanation, well aware that this was still unlikely to register with Queenie.
‘Well, at least poor Angus is off the hook,’ Mrs Jamieson said, going back to their conversation.
‘The police were all over the place for a couple of hours after the break-in was reported, and then Angus came into the kitchen and said he was needin’ a cup of tea when they were done making him fill out all that paperwork.
We gave him a wee drop of whisky in it to make him feel better, and then he had a few more and fell fast asleep!
We had to wake him up at six o’clock because we had to get started on the dinner. ’
‘We were just sayin’,’ said Queenie, ‘that they’ve taken away poor Micky McConnachie and arrested him! But ye’ll know that, won’t you, what with Morag workin’ up at the malthouse?’
‘So far as I know they’re just questioning him,’ Ally said, picking up a box of teabags.
‘Aye, but he’s forever gettin’ drunk and sayin’ daft things,’ said a woman with golden curls framing her old, wrinkled face.
‘He’s almost as daft as yersel’ with that wig!’ exclaimed a younger woman with a green beret.
‘Nothin’ wrong with my wig!’ protested Golden Curls.
‘Except that it’s meant for a twenty-year-old,’ said the woman with the green beret.
‘Which is absolutely none of your damn business!’ snapped Golden Curls. ‘But we live just across the road, and we saw it all, so we did! Him shoutin’ and screamin’ and the wife and kids howlin’ and cryin’…’
‘How’s Morag takin’ it?’ Mrs Jamieson asked.
‘Well, she’s naturally upset,’ Ally admitted.
‘You know what?’ said Mrs Jamieson. ‘Morag and Murdo McConnachie brought up a real good Christian family who knows right from wrong!’
Ally nodded, desperate to pay for her teabags and get out of there.
‘Unfortunately,’ continued Mrs Jamieson, ‘sometimes the demon drink takes over!’ She raised her eyes to heaven.
‘Aye, but the French have a word for that,’ said Green Beret.